


sweet talk with a hint of sin

by elysiumwaits



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billy is mean and Steve likes it, Bottom Steve Harrington, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Humiliation, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insecurity, M/M, kink as a coping mechanism, this is just 2300 words of foreplay, you can pry my excessive italicization from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiumwaits/pseuds/elysiumwaits
Summary: For now, Billy smiles, which is how Steve realizes that he’s fucked in all the best ways possible. That smile is a promise and a threat all in one that Billy’s going to wreck him tonight and spend all of tomorrow (and maybe even the next day) coddling him. Steve’s going to ache with it, going to burn and beg and cry, probably.--Aka the long D/s foreplay scene.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 15
Kudos: 258





	sweet talk with a hint of sin

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been a long-time Stranger Things reader, but this is my first fic in the fandom. So of course, it’s filthy humiliating dirty talk. 
> 
> The working title for this was, appropriately, “Harringrove PWP.” Which is silly because there’s no actual sex in here. Sorry about the lack of orgasms, this was not what I was supposed to be writing and I'm very sleepy.
> 
> Title from Halsey's "Not Afraid Anymore."

“Look at  _ you _ .”

The words are followed by a low whistle, salacious appreciation that burns hot in Steve’s cheeks, sending a blush blooming across his skin. For all that he likes being the center of attention, it’s different being the center of  _ Billy’s _ attention - naked, legs spread, Billy’s gaze raking over him like a tangible, heated thing that Steve can feel on his most intimate places. Half the time Steve can’t even meet Billy’s gaze head-on, because being the target of all that focus and intent is overwhelming.

He knows that Billy will make him, though, that Billy knows exactly that Steve needs to be shoved out of his comfort zone, to be  _ seen _ . It’s no secret that Billy likes him like this, god knows Billy’s told him enough in various, increasingly-filthy ways. Billy likes him blushing, likes him embarrassed, likes him desperate and willing to do just about anything to get off. Not even desperate to get off, sometimes - desperate to be  _ good _ , desperate for whatever Billy’s willing to give him.

Vulnerable.

Steve likes it too, is the thing. Now that he knows he can trust Billy to piece him together after he’s done taking Steve apart, that Billy will go soft for Steve where he’s usually sharp edges, Steve craves it worse than ever. He craved it before, too, when they were still more black eyes and venom with their orgasms instead of trust and communication. Steve knows now that Billy can be so fucking  _ mean _ in all the ways that Steve needs him to be, not just in the ways he doesn’t, that they can form around each other instead of colliding head-on like a car crash. That, yeah, being in the middle of it is overwhelming, rides the line between awesome and devastating, but Billy will take Steve exactly where he needs to go and no further.

So, here he is. 

Vulnerable. 

He’s biting his lip and trying to resist the impulse to close his legs on his back in Billy’s bed, hands curled around the pillow his head is on, watching Billy watch him back from the end of the bed. If Steve had it his way, he’d be on his stomach, hiding as much as he can, soft parts both physical and emotional covered. Steve doesn’t usually get his way, though - not here in Billy’s apartment, here in Billy’s bedroom, here in Billy’s bed.

“You’re so pretty,” Billy says. 

His tone is soft and coaxing, but his eyes aren’t. His mouth is curled into a mean little open-mouthed grin, right before he closes it around the last drag of his cigarette, cherry burning bright in the dim room. Steve watches him, tracks his movement from the end of the bed to the nightstand to put out the cigarette. 

Billy regards him from where he’s standing near the head of the bed, now. It’s almost more unsettling, in a good way, to have Billy so close but not touching him. It’s almost too intimate, which is ridiculous, considering all that they’ve done together, all the different ways and places they’ve fucked, all the confessions they’ve whispered to each other.

“So fucking pretty.” Billy says again, and one of Billy’s hands reaches out, fingertips trailing down the skin of Steve’s arm, skipping over to swipe his thumb across Steve’s bottom lip. “Are you my pretty boy, baby?” Deceptively gentle, uncharacteristically sweet.

Steve swallows, chews on his lip a little before he nods, just once. He can’t get the words out yet, can’t say what he wants to. What Billy wants him to. Maybe it’s just that Steve likes to push the boundaries, find the weak spots, see where he can dig his hands in the cracks and pry things apart. There’s probably something to unpack there - the won’t versus the can’t.

Not that it matters at the moment, because Billy’s not one to let him get away with any shit, doesn’t bend to Steve the way everyone else seems to. His hand goes from soft to rough in the blink of an eye, and Steve gasps as it curls around his jaw, presses him down into the pillow. Tight hold, so Steve can’t nod or shake instead of talking. 

Even his voice is harsher. “Try again. Are you my pretty boy, Stevie?”

This time it’s easier, having reaffirmed that Billy’s not going to give him an inch. “Yeah,” Steve replies, voice ghost-quiet. It’s still not right, he knows, not what Billy wants to hear. Strike two.

Billy’s hand leaves Steve’s jaw, but for only the split second it takes to slap him. Not hard, barely a little love tap, but the minor sting still shocks Steve. It shouldn’t - Billy’s slapped him much harder than that, when Steve’s asked him to, left his cheeks red and aching while Steve cries about it and Billy fucks him into the bed. 

Hand on his chin again, fingers gripping on just the right side of painful. “Eyes on me,” Billy demands, sharp, and Steve snaps his gaze up to Billy’s. “Last chance. Are you my pretty boy?”

“Yeah, yes.” The words tumble out finally, pinned as Steve is beneath Billy’s hand and Billy’s eyes. “I’m-I’m your pretty boy.”

The reward isn’t immediate. Billy doesn’t gentle his hold on Steve’s face, doesn’t go all soft on him. If anything, it tightens as Billy turns Steve’s head this way and that way for him, taunting, examining. Sometimes Billy  _ pushes _ even when Steve does what he’s supposed to, because he can tell by the look in Steve’s eye that he needs Billy to be meaner, needs him to cross the line into cruel. Sometimes Steve doesn’t even know that he needs it until it’s over, until he’s shaking in Billy’s arms but  _ better _ .

“Good boy,” Billy finally says, releases Steve’s jaw to give a borderline-condescending pat to his cheek. “Don’t know why you have so much trouble with that, baby, you’re so fucking vain most of the time.” He moves, strides back down toward the end of the bed and starts to pull his shirt off.

Steve scowls - pouts, more like, as Billy’s told him a few times. “I’m not  _ vain _ ,” Steve snaps before he can think better of it. Once he starts, it’s hard to stop, so even as he sees Billy stiffen and drop his shirt to the floor, he just keeps talking. “You’re the only one who thinks I’m pretty, just because I -”

He should know, by now, that arguing with Billy  _ here _ when they’re like  _ this _ isn’t a good idea. Or maybe it’s the best idea, Steve doesn’t know, because sometimes he doesn’t get what he wants but he gets what he needs - the control forcibly yanked from his grasp because he can’t hand it over himself. Billy’s happy to take what Steve wants to offer but can’t. 

This time it’s in the form of Billy cutting him off with a hand clamped down over Steve’s mouth, long enough for him to toss one leg over Steve’s waist, straddling him and looking over him with narrow annoyance. Steve squirms, revels a little in the discomfort of his bare, oversensitized skin against the rough texture of Billy’s jeans. Billy pulls his hand away from Steve’s mouth to give him another light slap. 

“You saying I’m  _ wrong _ ?”

“I just -” Another slap, rougher, more intent. 

“Are you  _ arguing _ with me?”

“No, but -” Steve tries, and gets another slap on the same cheek for it.

“Sounds like you’re being a prissy little bitch. You want something to bitch about, baby?” Billy’s hand closes over his mouth again, cutting off the answer that Steve starts to stutter out. “I can  _ give you _ something to bitch about, princess, and I guarantee it’ll be a lot meaner than me paying you a fucking compliment.”

Steve’s eyes are wide, and there’s a familiar thread of not-quite-fear rushing through him. The thing about it is that Billy  _ knows _ how far he can push Steve, which threats work and which don’t, and Steve  _ knows _ that Billy doesn’t make empty threats.

“You want me beat your ass, Steve? That’d give you something to bitch about for sure.” 

Steve shakes his head as much as he can under Billy’s firm hand, even as his cock kicks where it’s been hard from the moment Billy told him to get naked and get on the bed. He loves it when Billy spanks him, can feel it for  _ days _ , but he knows that if Billy has to follow through on that particular threat that he won’t be coming until he’s well and truly hurting. 

“Don’t think I fucking won’t,” Billy says. “You don’t argue with me. You ask me  _ nicely _ , like the good little bitch you are, and I give it to you if I feel  _ generous _ .”

And Steve knows that there’s no way he wins here. He’s not  _ supposed _ to win, that’s not how this works. If he wants to stop, he’s got a safeword and colors, even signals for when he can’t talk, and Billy doesn’t hold back until Steve uses them. So Steve knows exactly what’s going to happen when he nods in agreement as Billy pulls his hand away from his mouth.

He still hesitates, cheeks burning with embarrassment and the phantom sting of Billy’s palm.

“Well?” Billy says expectantly. “Go ahead, then. Ask me  _ nicely _ .” He leans over Steve, kisses his way down the line of Steve’s jaw, nips at the delicate skin of Steve’s throat. The hand that had been covering Steve’s mouth shifts to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing over Steve’s cheekbone.

Steve sucks in a breath, which isn’t an easy accomplishment when he’s with Billy. “I’m not…” he starts, stops. Watches as Billy props himself up on one hand, flits his eyes down to Billy’s mouth because he can’t hold Billy’s gaze. He thinks about it a little more carefully and rephrases, tries asking  _ nicely _ . “Please don’t call me pretty?”

It’s fucking  _ weird _ , okay, how Steve’s insecurities come out at the strangest times, rear their ugly little heads and make themselves known. Like, Billy’s been calling him pretty for  _ years _ , since they were assholes in high school, taking potshots in the form of insults and scuffles in the locker room and at parties. Back then, Steve could shrug it off - “pretty boy” and “don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, King Steve” - but now it’s become something different, something more like an endearment, like Billy really thinks Steve is pretty. 

And, like, of course Billy thinks Steve is pretty. Billy’s always thought Steve is pretty, Steve knows that.  _ Usually _ Steve’s into it, usually he likes it when Billy calls him pretty. It doesn’t even matter if Billy’s saying it all soft and gentle while they’re curled up together to watch a movie, or if he’s hissing it mean in Steve’s ear with his fingers digging bruises into Steve’s skin.

Tonight… fuck, Steve doesn’t know. It just sits weird, like maybe he doesn’t  _ deserve _ it, like maybe he’s somehow tricked Billy into thinking he’s attractive all this time. Or something. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, and he should probably bring it up to his therapist on Thursday afternoon, but for now...

For now, Billy smiles, which is how Steve realizes that he’s  _ fucked _ in all the best ways possible. That smile is a promise and a threat all in one that Billy’s going to wreck him tonight and spend all of tomorrow (and maybe even the next day) coddling him. Steve’s going to ache with it, going to burn and beg and cry, probably.

Billy leans back down over him. Steve doesn’t dare move his hands from where Billy’s told him to keep them - gripping the pillow, fingers digging in. “Stevie,” Billy says, fond, drags the vowels out in a rush of breath over the curve of Steve’s neck. “ _ Baby _ .” 

The hand on Steve’s cheek drags down, slow and deliberate, back to cover his mouth and cut his voice off once more. His fingers flex on the pillow, and he’s hanging, suspended, waiting for whatever Billy’s going to say. Teeth scrape down Steve’s jaw, dig in just a little too high for a mark to be socially acceptable, and Steve whines behind Billy’s palm.

He’s so fucking hard it hurts.

“I’ll call you whatever I fucking want,” Billy hisses in Steve’s ear when he finally stops working a mark into Steve’s skin. “I call you my pretty boy so I can make sure you know  _ exactly _ what you are and  _ exactly _ who you belong to. Got it?”

He doesn’t wait for Steve to nod this time before he pulls his hand away and sits up. He’s made his point, and Steve’s head spins with it, with the way that he can settle into his bones and know that Billy’s going to get him where he needs to go. Billy swipes his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip again, presses it in when Steve opens his mouth just enough to let him. 

“Fuck,” Billy says, shifts just enough that Steve can feel how  _ affected _ he is despite the jeans. “Can’t tell me you’re not pretty, not with a mouth like that. Let’s give you something to do with it so you don’t start bitching again.”

Later, Steve’s voice will be hoarse. His cheek will ache with a phantom sting, his ass will be red with the ghost of Billy’s hand across it. And he’ll lay across Billy’s chest and float while Billy tells him how fucking beautiful he is, how Billy’s so lucky that he gets to call Steve his, while the sunlight creeps in through the window. 

Tonight, though, Steve will let Billy take him piece by piece, until he’s nothing but a shivering, desperate nerve. And he will love every second.


End file.
